


An unlikely queen

by SecondStarOnTheLeft



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/M, JUST, really really alternate
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-26
Updated: 2014-02-14
Packaged: 2017-12-06 13:09:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 13,367
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/736074
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SecondStarOnTheLeft/pseuds/SecondStarOnTheLeft
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lysa Tully had always felt the <em>lesser</em> sister - younger, not as beautiful, not so worthy of anyone's love (Father, Uncle Brynden, Edmure, <em>Petyr</em>) - but that did not matter.</p><p>Not when Prince Rhaegar (like a prince from her favourite songs, like Aemon the Dragonknight but without having forsworn wife and children) was smiling at her with his sad violet eyes and calling her<em> my</em> lady.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> So basically, this happened because tonight I had a bit of a situation wherein I got really angry with fandom's treatment of Lysa and Sweetrobin, and then I decided I wanted Lysa to have a nice life.
> 
> Lo, the Queen Lysa AU was born!
> 
> (this is purposefully vague because I'm not entirely certain how I'm going to approach this as far as the narrative style goes, but we'll see how we go, okay?)

Father had told her to smile and stand tall and not be nervous, but how was she supposed to not be nervous?

Cat didn't understand, not really - Cat had known Brandon for years, after all, and he was only heir to Winterfell, only a Stark.

Lysa swallowed anxiously and straightened her shoulders and forced herself not to huddle close to Father's side as  _her_ betrothed rode through the gates on a beautiful white horse, his silvery-pale hair tied back neatly with a deep black velvet ribbon. 

There were other men, but Lysa had eyes only for Rhaegar Targaryen, Prince of Dragonstone, heir to the Iron Throne, and, by the next full moon - her lord husband.

 

* * *

 

She left Cat sitting between Petyr and Brandon's brother, Eddard, who seemed a dull sort but with whom Cat seemed thoroughly engaged, and agreed to show Prince Rhaegar the grounds.

"I wish to reassure you, my lady," he said as she led him through the godswood, Ser Arthur Dayne a pale shadow behind them, white armour and white-blonde hair and white sword, and she leaned a little closer because the prince was so soft-spoken, although not, as she was, because he was shy. "You may have heard... Unpleasant stories about my father. He may speak unkindly, but he does not mean it."

Lysa had heard that the King was quite mad, but she did not dare say so to the prince.

"You will like my mother, I think," he went on, a whisper of an encouraging smile turning up one corner of his mouth. Lysa wondered what it would be like to kiss him - she would find out soon enough, she supposed. She wondered if it would feel different to Petyr's kisses when they played at kissing games. Petyr's lips were always cool, because he liked to chew on peppermint leaves, but she thought that mayhaps Prince Rhaegar's mouth would be warm, just like him. She huddled slightly closer to that warmth, because it was  _cold_ out, and she was wearing her prettiest cloak, but it was not by any means her warmest. "The Queen is a kind and gracious woman."

"You have a brother, as well, I am told?" she tried, pleased that her lisp didn't show - she hated her lisp more than almost anything, even though Septa had trained it out of her. It usually acted up when she was nervous, as she was now, but her voice was steady, her words clear, and she flushed with relief. "He is younger than you, your highness?"

"Almost of an age with  _your_ brother, my lady," he agreed, his smile blooming fully now. "His name is Viserys - you will like him, too, I hope. He is a good boy, if a little rambunctious."

"I am sure I will, your highness" she said eagerly, smiling as widely as she dared. It was coming to dusk now, and the fading light caught on the lovely purple colour of the prince's melancholy eyes.

"Please, Lady Lysa," he said quietly, "my name is Rhaegar. You may use it."

She couldn't be certain, but she thought that Ser Arthur's cough sounded suspiciously like a laugh.


	2. Chapter One

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lysa is not entirely certain what to make of her husband-to-be's companions.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay so we'll take it nice and slow and see how that goes, shall we? Yes, I think so.

Lysa had always liked riding - preferably with Cat and Petyr - and had never felt so nervous on horseback as she did while riding with the prince.

"You are not used to riding, my lady?" he asked as they neared Darry, and she blushed in mortification that he had noticed her discomfort.

"Not- not sidesaddle, your highness," she admitted, wondering if he would be horrified at the thought of his betrothed riding astride like a man. She did so desperately want for him to like her, and Father and Septa had always said that a proper lady did not ride like a man. "That is-"

"If you would be more comfortable ride otherwise, my lady, I am sure it will not offend Prince Rhaegar's  _delicate_ sensibilities," Ser Oswell Whent said, and Lysa assumed he was teasing because he always seemed to be. "I'm sure we can find breeches for you, if you'd rather."

She blushed again, bit her lip when she noticed Father frowning, but then the prince smiled.

"I would not wish for you to be uncomfortable, my lady," he said gently. "When we reach the city, I will see that riding gowns are commissioned for you, if you would like."

"I could not-"

He reached out and took her hand in his - he had lovely, elegant hands, with long fingers and the softest skin - and smiled, just a little.

"You are to be my wife, Lady Lysa," he said, and Lysa found that she very much liked the way he said her name. "You could do a great many things."

 

* * *

 

Lysa  _hated_ Robert Baratheon.

She knew it was wrong - he was Prince Rhaegar's cousin, lord of an old and noble house, of the Stormlands as well, and by all reports popular and well-loved, but when Lysa overheard him laughing with Eddard Stark and some others of the prince's companions that Brandon Stark would have the prize of House Tully, that Lysa was a poor bride indeed for a prince and that she would not have been a bride at all yet had the King not wanted to spite Tywin Lannister...

She  _hated_ him.

It was Lord Jon Connington that found her in the sept, and she imagined that she looked a mess - but he merely sat quietly at her side before the Maiden, his hair as red as her own in the candlelight.

"Lord Robert is uncouth," he said at last. "And has a tendency to speak ill of women who will not be his to bed, particularly when he is in his cups. You would do best to ignore him, my lady."

"What he said of Lord Tywin," she whispered, hardly daring to speak the words aloud. "Was it true?"

Lysa remembered Lord Tywin coming to Riverrun, remembered talk of her being betrothed to his heir, Ser Jaime, remembered the whispers that the King's son and the Hand's daughter were to be wed, but it had not happened. Instead, Lysa would be a Princess of House Targaryen, and she neither knew nor particularly cared what would happen to Cersei Lannister, because she had not liked the older girl one bit.

"The prince needed a wife of high birth and good breeding," Lord Connington said quietly, and Lysa thought he looked terribly sad when he set his gaze on his folded hands. "You are both, and beautiful besides - you will make him a good wife, my lady."

Lord Connington had barely spoken to her until that moment, so Lysa was surprised by his endorsment, but she smiled nonetheless. 

"Thank you, my lord," she said, sniffing into her handkerchief (Cat had stitched it for her on the announcment of her betrothal, with a tiny silver dragon on Tully blue). "You have been very kind."

"His highness is fond of you already, my lady," Lord Connington assured her, rising and offering her his hand. "He finds pleasure in few things, but he smiles for you."

 

* * *

 

She had expected to be intimidated by Ser Arthur Dayne, legendary Sword of the Morning, but there was a gentleness to him that Lysa took comfort in when Prince Rhaegar's other companions were being loud and boistrous.

"King's Landing is loud," he told her as he rode with her and Cat and Petyr, "but you will get used to it - my home at Starfall is even more isolated and quiet than Riverrun, considerably more so, and coming to King's Landing was somewhat shocking. Besides, his highness spends plenty of time at Dragonstone, where it is quieter. The sea is very lovely there, my lady, I think you will like it."

"I have never seen the sea," Lysa admits. "Is it as beautiful as people say it is?"

"I grew up swimming in it every day with my brother and sister," Ser Arthur said with a smile. "I love it very much, but there are others who feel differently."

Ser Arthur was always kind to her, and Ser Oswell, too, in his strange way, seemed kind. Cat assured her that Lord Eddard, Brandon's brother, was nice too, although he seemed near as shy as Lysa herself, and Lord Connington, though distant, was quite sweet.

Which still left her with Robert Baratheon, who she loathed, and the two Hightower brothers, who were... Odd.

Gunthor in particular was strange, because at least Baelor was odd solely because he talked of nothing besides his wife and little son, Lady Elia who was a Martell and a princess by birth, and little Olyvar, who apparently looked precisely like his mother except for his hair. Lysa enjoyed Ser Baelor's company, because he was very easy, but Ser Gunthor always seemed nervous, which was discomfiting.

 

* * *

 

Still, none of that mattered when Prince Rhaegar guided Lysa to sit by him in the evenings, when he gently chided her for not using his name, when they walked outside with Ser Arthur or Ser Oswell a polite distance away and, once, when it was very cold, Prince Rhaegar went as far as to drape her in his own cloak.

"A practice for what is to come," he said with one of his quiet little smiles, and then he pressed his lips to her gloved knuckles and led her back to the inn, the moonlight making his hair milkglass pale and highlighting the unearthly whiteness of his skin, the striking colour of his eyes. He was so beautiful that she could hardly believe that he was truly meant to be hers. 

She often felt as though they were being watched when they went on their walks - usually by Father, sometimes by Cat or by Uncle Brynden, sometimes by one of the prince's companions - and she could not quite quash the tiny part of her that wished Petyr to watch her the way he watched Cat with Brandon Stark.


	3. Chapter Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Lysa meets the woman who will soon call her daughter, and two very different women whose places she may have usurped.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Timelines? What are they? RUN WITH IT :D

Lysa chose not to dwell on her meeting with the King, partly because half of what he said had been entirely incomprehensible but mostly because he had  _terrified_ her.

The Queen was something else altogether - Lysa would never admit it, not even to Cat ( _especially_ not to Cat), but she rather saw something of herself in sad, lovely Queen Rhaella, who was denied the one she loved and...

Well, Lysa supposed the prince was a very different man to his father, and he was not her  _brother,_ so it was different. But still, she thought she mayhaps understood some of the Queen's soft grief because she felt something similar in her chest when Petyr looked at Cat with moon eyes.

"My mother likes you very much," the prince said softly as they walked the gardens that evening. "She says you have a good heart, my lady," and Lysa basked as much in the prince's smile as his mother's praise, because no matter what Lord Jon said, Lysa knew that the prince smiled as rarely for her as for anyone else. There was such a well of sadness within him, and she wished that she might alleviate his sorrow because his smile was  _so_ lovely.

"Her Grace is a true lady," Lysa said, and she was rewarded with another of those smiles - Ser Arthur was behind them, and Lysa had been relieved to find that even here in the Red Keep, it was he who was the prince's companion and guard more than any other brother of the Kingsguard. "I enjoyed her company very much."

"She is sometimes lonely, I think," the prince said, melancholy heavy in the slump of his shoulders. "She seemed brighter after your time together this morning, Lady Lysa."

She still liked the way he said her name. It made her smile and blush just a little. She hoped he wouldn't notice.

"I should like to spend more time with her," she said honestly. "Her Grace mentioned other ladies...?"

"Ah, yes," the prince agreed, glancing back behind them. "Arthur may have some better insight than me - his lady sister is one of them."

"Your sister, ser?"

"Aye, Ashara," Ser Arthur said with a smile that, had Lysa not been the subject of the prince's rare smiles these past days, would have made her knees weak. "She is... A little wild by your northern standards, but she is here as companion to Princess Elia - Lady Elia Hightower, that is, Ser Baelor's lady wife."

Lysa thought that mayhaps Ser Arthur knew that soft grief, too, by the way his mouth turned at the mention of Ser Baelor's wife.

"Tell me of the ladies," she encouraged, both to distract him and for her own benefit - she would have the Queen, and she would have Cat, but they would still be strangers, older than her and more refined, probably more beautiful and cleverer and-

"You'll like them, my lady," Ser Arthur assured her. "My sister is somewhat like yours, but a good deal ruder and more outspoken..."

 

* * *

Cersei Lannister had grown even more beautiful since Lysa had seen her last, so that only Ser Arthur's sister and Cat were lovelier than her.

Three of the ladies who were to be Lysa's companions made a particular impression.

She quite liked Lady Ashara, with Ser Arthur's bright violet eyes (not truly purple, like the prince's, but so blue they were  _almost_ purple) but not his white-fair hair. Lady Ashara had darker hair than Lysa had ever seen before, except for one long thin streak of milky-white behind her left ear, but that only seemed to add to her allure, somehow. She laughed easily, smiled constantly, and was more affectionate than Lysa was used to, kissing the other ladies on the cheek when they made a jest that amused her, holding their hands constantly (holding Lysa's most of all).

Lady Elia, who was clearly as close to Lady Ashara as Lysa was to Cat, was very different - she was as delicate as the Queen, who sat at Lysa's side, at first glance, but then she smiled and something wicked and delightful flashed in her lovely dark eyes and Lysa was convinced that there wasn't a woman as strong in all the Seven Kingdoms, aside perhaps from Queen Rhaella herself. 

And then there was Lady Cersei, who sat as far from Lysa as she could and did nothing but glare and spit poison the whole afternoon. Lysa was nearly in tears when the prince and Ser Arthur came to collect her for their walk, and though she tried to hide it, both men noticed - and the prince turned his sad eyes on Lady Cersei, who preened under his gaze, faltering only when his displeasure became apparent in the downturn of one corner of his lips.

"I do hope my lady has been made welcome," he said, his voice no louder than it always was when he spoke to Lysa but a little harder. "This _is_ to be her home more even than any of yours, my ladies."

He turned to Lysa then, offered her his hand, and smiled just a little. 

"If you will, my lady?"

 

* * *

 

"Lady Cersei and Lady Elia both were put forward as brides for my son," Queen Rhaella whispered that night - she had called for Lysa to be her bedmate for the night - when they'd settled into her mounds of soft rose-pink pillows. "Their mothers were my companions when we were children, dear friends both, and we always wished for our children to marry once I went so long without birthing a daughter."

"They are very beautiful," Lysa said pensively.

"As are you, my sweet," the Queen said softly - there was much of his mother in the prince's manner, Lysa had found. "With such wonderful fire in your hair."

She shivered at that, quieted when the Queen stroked a delicate hand over her cheek, and willingly held her goodmother-to-be's hand as they curled closer and drifted to sleep.

Lysa dreamt of fire that night, and woke sweating and longing for a swim in the chill of the Tumblestone in the early morning to cool her flushed skin.


	4. Chapter Three

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this is late
> 
> But
> 
> WEDDING

On the morning of Lysa's wedding, she awoke to an army of maids bustling about her rooms - her temporary rooms, for after tonight she would be moved to the suite adjoining the Prince's - and a small army of ladies waiting to help her.

She was grateful for Cat's constant presence - her sister never left her side for a moment, even going so far as to scrub her back in the bath, humming the soft lullaby Lysa half-remmebered Mother singing to them and holding her hand when she started to worry - but was surprised by how nice it was to have the Queen there, too. 

Queen Rhaella and Cat left Lysa's hair to nimble-fingered Lady Ashara and gentle Lady Elia (she was as grateful for Lady Cersei's absence as for Cat's presence), and while Cat sorted carefully through the exquisite jewels that had once belonged to their mother, the Queen sat in front of Lysa and smiled the same soft, sad smile as the Prince.

"You will be a worthy Targaryen," she said, rubbing a lightly scented cream into Lysa's hands to make them soft. "There have been few enough queens from without the family across the years, but you will stand among the best of them, I know it now."

Lysa was not so naive as some thought - Robert Baratheon's assertion that she was merely a toy with which the King might taunt Tywin Lannister had taken her by surprise, but she had been aware that her marriage was not some great romantic adventure, regardless of how much it might seem that the Prince walked straight from one of her songs, before she overheard the great boor talking. Father had sat her down and told her as much, explained some of the current climate - that the King was mad, that Lord Tywin had held the true power for a long time and was now a potential enemy of the crown, that this marriage could well hold the peace for a time by providing the Prince with an heir of  _diluted_ Targaryen blood and therefore make him a more stable prospect in the event that the King could be removed.

But Lysa had sworn never to speak of that, because such things were treasonous, and Father had only told her so that she might be aware of her position, precarious as it would be until she produced a healthy son.

Still, for providing some measure of stability, for being an instrument to stave off a civil war - for that alone, she might have stood among the finest Targaryen queens.  _Like Queen Naerys, but able to marry her Dragonknight._

Her gown was exquisite - soft silver-blue, silk and Myrish lace and more extravegant than anything she'd ever worn before, she felt impossibly beautiful when she stood before the mirror in her wedding gown, her hair gathered up in soft curls that were pinned back from her face and spilled down her back, threaded through with long strings of seed pearls and deep blue lapis beads. 

Father came in then, and politely asked for a moment alone with her - she bid the Queen and Lady Ashara and Lady Elia farewell, for Cat would travel to the sept with her and Father and Edmure and Uncle Brynden, and they would enter ahead of her and Father so that Edmure would not have long to fuss before the ceremony.

"You look beautiful, sweetling," he said quietly as he wrapped the heavy chequered cloak around her shoulders, standing a little way back so he could adjust the drape and then stepping closer, resting his hands on her shoulders and his chin on her crown. He often did that with Cat, and Lysa had always been jealous - it helped, a little, that he would do it for her now, when she most needed his reassurance. "A worthy bride for a Targaryen, that much I know."

Father had never had a petname for Lysa as he did for Cat - he and Uncle Brynden both had always called Cat  _Little Cat -_ but for the first time, Lysa wondered if she had mayhaps been harsh in her assessment of Father's regard for her.

 

* * *

Prince Rhaegar's hands did not shake as he replaced her Tully red-and-blue with Targaryen black-and-scarlet, but her own did. They shook even more when he took her face in his hands and guided her mouth to his own, when he kissed her for the first time in front of so very many people, including the King who so openly disliked her (she had seen him looking at Cat, and wondered if he, like most everyone else, thought that the taller, beautiful Tully sister would have made a worthier bride for the Prince had the Starks not ensnared her so early).

The Prince smiled, though, when he leaned away from her, and then he offered her his arm and guided her out into the sunlight, into the carriage that would return them to the Red Keep for the feast.

"Are you happy, my lady?" he asked softly as they rattled up Aegon's hill, sitting closer together than would have been proper even just a few hours before. Lysa felt suddenly dizzy at the realisation of how her life had changed - could she really be a  _princess?_ \- and swayed in her seat, right into the Prince's arms.

"It was very warm in the sept," he said, but he was smiling and his eyes were bright. "I will see that you have something cool to drink when we reach the keep, my lady-"

"Lysa," she said, blushing at her daring. "Please, your highness, please use my name?"

Petyr had always called her  _my lady_ when they played at kissing games and things when Cat was away, and she wondered if it was because he had been pretending that she  _was_ Cat. He had seemed quite cheerful at the prospect of her marrying, after all, but hated Brandon Stark more than anyone in the world.

"Very well, Lysa," he said, and she blushed even more to have him really using her name, "but only if you promise to use  _my_ name, as I have asked you already."

"I- I will try, your- Rhaegar, I mean."

He smiled again, and he kept an arm around her as he helped her down out of the carriage, and kept her close as he guided her inside.

Lysa wondered how to tell when you were in love, and she wondered if she might fall in love with her prince. 

 

* * *

Lysa saw Rhaegar Targaryen laugh for the first time when they led the dancing.

"Why, sweet Lysa, you have hidden a most enviable talent from me!" he said brightly, and then as she skipped lightly through a complicated pass - she and Cat practised those same steps only days before they left Riverrun - he twirled her about in delight and laughed, throwing back his head as he gathered her back into his arms once more. "And I am told that you sing as sweetly as a lark as well - you must sing for us, my lady!"

She managed to convince him not to make her sing, and before he could reach for his silver harp and sing a song for her himself, as he vowed he would, Robert horrid Baratheon was calling for the bedding and (or at least, so it seemed to Lysa) every man in the hall was converging on her, tearing at her hair and her gown and-

And Ser Arthur swept her up into his arms as easily as if she weighed nothing at all, while she was still in her shift and stockings and smallclothes and slippers, and he winked before darting on ahead of the crowd of drunken revellers, easily outstripping them even in his armour.

"His highness asked that either myself or Prince Lewyn come to your aid, my lady," he confided in a whisper, winking as he nudged open the door of the bedchamber before Robert Baratheon and his friends had even reached the top of the stairs. "Just as I asked my sister and yours to come to his - he is oblivious to his own charms, I think."

Somehow, that was a comfort, and then Lysa was alone in the vast bedchamber as she awaited her prince's arrival.


	5. Chapter Four

Lysa woke slowly the following morning, and for a brief moment, she forgot where she was - it felt as though she were alone in the bed, alone in  _her_ bed, home in Riverrun, but then she opened her eyes and the pillow beneath her head was the smoothest of red silk, embroidered with coiling black satin thread, and she remembered.

Well, the ache between her legs helped her memory along, of course, although she remembered no pain during the night. Far from it, in fact.

When she rolled over onto her back, it was to find the Prince  _Rhaegar, I must call him by his name_ , sitting up with a heavy book resting against his raised knees. 

He was naked, aside from what the book hid, and Lysa might have blushed had she not been just as bare but for the soft blankets that matched the pillows.

"You are awake," he said, smiling without his habitual sadness but with less enthusiasm than Lysa might have hoped for, given how they had spent the previous hours. "I had hoped not to disturb you, my lady - I rise early, but wished to remain with you until you woke."

She blushed at that - no one had ever thought to worry for her in such a way save Cat, and it was wholly different then - and sat up, clutching the covers close over her breasts and ducking her head. Her hair tumbled down around her face, hiding her from the- from Rhaegar, and him from her, but before she could do anything about that, he gently gathered it and settled it over her right shoulder, and cupped her jaw in his hand.

"Princess Lysa," he said with a smile. "Shall we present you to our people, sweet Lysa?"

 

* * *

 

She found herself, after the morning meal and much bawdy cheering from the irrepresible and, as usual, disgusting Robert Baratheon and his friends, sitting in what was now  _her_ solar, amongst the apartments of the royal family, with her companions - Cat, Lady Elia, Lady Ashara, Lady Cersei, Lady Mina Tyrell, a handful of others whose names she did not know yet, not beyond a flurry of introductions that left her more confused than informed.

Also with them was Lady Elia's little son - Olyvar Hightower looked as much like his mother as his father had insisted, but his hair was sandy-fair and curly, and his smile was entirely his father's. He was a sweet boy, just gone two years old and enthused with everything, most especially Lysa and Cat's hair.

"He is not usually so taken with strangers, Princess," Lady Elia laughed, scooping Olyvar up into her lap and kissing his curls. "Please, pardon him - he means no harm."

Lysa looked up from dangling the end of her braid for the little boy to play with, catching both Lady Elia's warmth and Cersei Lannister's scorn, and chose to ignore the latter - she had the beginnings of friendship with Elia Hightower and Ashara Dayne and Mina Tyrell, and she had Cat, and she had the Queen and Rhaegar. What was Cersei Lannister and her jealousy to all that?

 

* * *

Sharing a bed with Prince Rhaegar was nothing like Lysa might have expected.

Cat had asked her, in a hushed whisper as she combed her hair the night after the wedding, what it was like to lie with a man, and Lysa had not known what to tell her. 

"Sweet," she had said, for so it had been - he had whispered of her beauty as he kissed along her skin, as he had touched her gently with careful hands, and she had been so hungry for him (yes, hungry, it had been nothing like Septa had said it would be) that it hadn't even hurt when he took her maidenhead.

Septa had warned that it might hurt even after that, but Lysa had never felt anything but pleasure in bed in the weeks since her wedding, and every morning she awoke to find either that the Prince (Rhaegar Rhaegar Rhaegar) had risen before her and was reading in bed, or that he was still asleep, and he had kept her in his arms all through the night.

* * *

 

She knew that he did not love her - they knew each other so little, after all, and Lysa had always been well prepared for there being little love in her marriage, but he was kind to her, and impossibly gentle, and that was more than enough to allow her some happiness even if he did not listen to her, invite her to discuss matters of state and ruling with him over their evening meal, which he always took care to share with her.

He treated her as though she were intelligent, which was such an unusual thing that she had a difficult time in coming to terms with it. She was well used to being clever Cat's quite shadow, and few had ever thought to wonder if she had opinions. Prince Rhaegar did, as did Lady Elia and Lady Ashara.

But they were Dornish - Lady Elia's mother had inherited ahead of her uncles, in Dorne, they  _listened_ to women - and she had thought little of it until Lady Mina began to do the same, and Lady Darlessa ignored her niece's poison glares and talked at length of music, which was mayhaps the one thing Lysa was confident in her knowledge of.

And Queen Rhaella - she above all made Lysa feel valued. Lysa had become the Queen's sole confidant, it seemed, because as far as Lysa could tell - not that she dared to ask anyone - the King had forbidden his Queen any companions of her own, and she seemed reluctant to sit with Lysa and her companions, for whatever reason, despite daily invitations.

But Lysa sat with the Queen for the midday meal every day, and she listened when her goodmother spoke in her quiet, sad voice, and spoke in return and told Rhaella of her dreams and wishes, told her things that even Cat did not know.

And then Rhaella told Lysa something that Lysa herself did not know, near two moons after the wedding.

"Sweetling," she said softly, taking Lysa's hand and smiling. "I think you'd best see a maester - not Pycelle though, foul old thing."

"Your grace?"

"I believe you may be with child," Queen Rhaella said, and she smiled, truly smiled as she never had before, when Lysa's hand went to her belly.


	6. Chapter Five

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Because it's been asked, this is set roughly in 282AL, a year prior to the end of the Rebellion in canon-time - obviously here, the Rebellion isn't on the cards, so don't expect Rhaegar to run away with Lyanna any time soon, but the ages that I can confirm (thanks to the Wiki) are:
> 
> Lysa: 16 / Rhaegar: 23 / Cat: 18 / Elia: 25 / Viserys: 7
> 
> They're the important recurring roles I think??

Rhaegar was sincerely delighted when Lysa came to him and told him that yes, she was indeed with child - so delighted that he spun her around in the air and kissed her soundly on the mouth, even though Cat and Ser Arthur and Prince Lewyn were in the room.

Being with child made Lysa consider things differently - she began to worry who at court she could trust, began to wonder which of the Kingsguard would best be suited to guard her babe. She sat with the Queen for hours, looking through the Targaryen histories and imagining what names her child might bear, what names her _children_ might bear. She began to wonder if there was some way to send Cersei Lannister, who watched Rhaegar with such hungry eyes and so openly scorned Lysa and Cat and Elia and Ashara and Mina, and sometimes, though never explicitly, never openly, poor sweet Queen Rhaella, too.

Lysa watched the way Elia and Ashara in particular handled Lady Cersei - Cat was icily polite, ever the proper Lady of Riverrun who stood by Father's side all these years, and Mina merely laughed at every cut and jibe about the Reach, but the Dornishwomen hum  _The Rains of Castamere_ as a mockery, and though none would ever dare laugh aloud, for such a thing would be impossibly rude, there was never a woman in the room, save for Lady Cersei herself, who was not fighting back a smile.

Prince Lewyn and Ser Arthur, who so often guarded Lysa, had taken to humming it as well, but only while escorting her from the room if Lady Cersei was still present. That lapse in decorum from brothers of the Kingsguard gave Lysa more confidence than anything, because it spoke of a support of  _her_ , and that paired with the fact that  _she_ was Rhaegar's wife, that  _she_ was carrying the second-in-line to the Iron Throne, that enabled her to ignore Cersei Lannister and her poisonous manner.

Lysa still did not touch a crumb Lady Cersei had handled or even passed near, for fear of a more literal poison.

 

* * *

 

She wrote to Father and Uncle Brynden, away home at Riverrun, and told them her wonderful news. Father wrote back in reply, a long letter full of praise and encouragement and a sort of affection that she remembered receiving from him but once, on the day of her wedding.

More importantly, though, he sent the letter by Uncle Brynden's own hand.

The Blackfish was as gruffly affectionate as ever with Cat, as careful and sweet as ever with Lysa, but he seemed warmer than before towards Rhaegar.

"We had heard rumours that the prince was mad, too," he confided in a whisper as Lysa led him to his rooms, Prince Lewyn a respectful distance away. "A gentler madness than the King, true, but mayhaps moony madness is excusable when he makes you smile so, girl."

And Lysa smiled constantly, she knew it herself - she had never been so happy, and the little firm swell of her belly drove her almost mad with elation. Rhaegar, too, seemed wild with happiness, or at least, wild for him. He smiled so readily now, and some of the melancholic shadows seemed to have left his deep eyes. Lord Jon and Ser Arthur both had mentioned it to Lysa, how light the prince's heart had been these past weeks since the announcement that she was with child, and it warmed her to think that she had had a hand in that.

Uncle Brynden being at court, though, was a strange sort of peril, for he was as gentle and sweet to Queen Rhaella as he was to Lysa, and that seemed to displease the King - so much, in fact, that Rhaegar spoke to Lysa of it.

"My father is a jealous man," he murmured, stretched out alongside her on their bed, one long-fingered hand splayed gently over her swelling belly, the other supporting his head. Lysa was only half-listening to his words, because he often spoke of  _ice and fire_ and such things when they were together like this, after he had gently made love with her, while they caught their breaths, and because he was so beautiful, lean and strong and  _hers._ "He does not like it when other men so much as speak with my mother."

Lysa listened after that, and shared Rhaegar's concerns with Uncle Brynden - he frowned, and seemed not to like it, but he accepted Rhaegar's warnings as wisdom and was merely polite to the Queen from there on. 

 

* * *

Lysa had been sure that Viserys, Rhaegar's little brother, hated her from the moment she arrived at King's Landing - he hid behind Ser Jaime's legs and glared at her, tugged on the Queen's skirts and Rhaegar's hand whenever he found either of them with her, and hid if he noticed her approaching.

But as soon as she started showing to the point where she needed new gowns, ones with high waistlines and softer bodices to accomodate her sensitive breasts, he seemed to gravitate towards her, shuffling into her solar ostensibly to play with Oly Hightower, but in reality because he seemed almost fascinated by her now.

"Sister?" he whispered, tugging on her skirts as she chatted with Mina and Cat. He looked very like Rhaegar, although his features were slightly sharper, more the shape of the King's than the Queen's, and his hair was a touch fairer, his eyes a lighter purple. "Is what Mother says true?"

Lysa turned properly to face him and held out her hands - he was of an age with Edmure, or near enough, but was much more timid.  _I would be timid, too,_ she thought,  _had I a father such as Aerys Targaryen._ He took them uncertainly, but smiled just a little. 

"What does Her Grace say, my prince?" she asked, crouching as low as her belly allowed to bring her face closer to his.

"Mother says that you are to have a babe," he whispered conspiratorially, glancing up at Cat and then at Mina. "And that I am to be its uncle."

"You are, my prince," she agreed, keeping her voice low and sitting gratefully when Prince Lewyn appeared from nowhere with a stool. "Would you like to be an uncle?"

His eyes flashed wide - had anyone ever asked him if he'd like something, she wondered, and she felt very sad for him, because Rhaegar, in his distant way, was fond of his brother, and the Queen loved him very much, but he did not seem to have any friends and nobody seemed to pay him much mind save for Queen Rhaella - and he nodded fiercely, and his eyes went wider still when she guided one of his hands to her belly.

"This babe is very lucky to have such an uncle as you, my prince," she whispered, and later that night Rhaegar laughed over dinner and told her that he did not know what she had done, but he suspected that Viserys would challenge him for her hand as soon as he could hold a sword.


	7. Chapter Six

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sort of a bridge, things actually happen in the next chapter. Idek what was going on when I wrote this but hopefully enjoy anyways?
> 
> Also I went to the trouble of asking about to see how old the Redwyne twins are and then ignored everything and made them older than that. Oops.

Before the King could do anything to truly endanger Lysa or the babe - a fear she knew Rhaegar held as entirely real - they departed the city, with a veritable army of companions, for Lord Whent's tourney at Harrenhall.

Travelling was uncomfortable with the weight of the babe making her back bow and ache, but Rhaegar did everything he could to ease her way, and Elia's company in the wheelhouse was indispensible - and Ashara and Cat and Mina always rode close at hand, so that Lysa needed only to throw open the windows to speak with her sister and her friends.

How wonderful it was to have friends! She had only ever had Cat, before, Cat and Petyr, and now she had clever, beautiful women who seemed to sincerely like her as only Cat had ever seemed to before. It was thrilling, in a quiet sort of way.

She particularly liked Mina - oh, she liked Elia and Ashara well enough, but Mina was witty and cheerful and liked sweets even more than Lysa did, and her children - twin boys, not much younger than Viserys but much brighter, happier - were just as cheerful. Lysa had taken to encouraging Viserys to play with them, to play at swords under the master-at-arms careful watch whenever he could get outside, and she felt that it had helped him a little. He was not so quiet and reserved now, nor quite so distrusting. He had ridden all the way from King's Landing on a little pony at Rhaegar's side, chattering eagerly to his brother.

Lysa wondered at Rhaegar, sometimes - she was still a little in awe of him, but she worried that he would exhibit the same distance with their babe as he often did with his brother. She hoped not, but there was a curious degree of removal in the way he interacted with everyone, even she, his wife. Cat had told her that she need not worry, that his face lit up every time he looked to the swell of Lysa's belly, but she still  _did_  worry. 

Mina's husband was due to meet them at Harrenhall, along with her brother and his wife - Lysa was looking forward to meeting them, because Mina spoke fondly of all three and Lysa had noted that generally, Mina's judgement was quite accurate.

"Did you know," she whispered as they rode through the gates of the horrible castle, having joined Lysa and Elia in the wheelhouse when her horse lost a shoe, "that Lord Connington is in love with your lord husband?"

" _Mina!"_  Elia laughed, shaking her head. "You must not say such things where they might be overheard!"

Lysa had noted Lord Jon's uncommon devotion to her husband, of course. It was so obvious that she couldn't see how she would have missed it, honestly, but the notion of two men being in love...? _  
_

"It's no sin, Elia," Mina pointed out with a grin. "Why, I'm told that the pleasures of a woman's body are quite as lovely as our menfolk would have us believe."

Elia's smile was a quiet, disarming thing, and she shared it then with a click of her tongue. Lysa was stunned - did people think such things? She had been raised to think that such things should only be shared between a man and his wife, but... Elia was Dornish, and everyone said that things were different in Dorne, but Mina was from the Reach, and the Faith was stronger in the Reach than anywhere else in the Seven Kingdoms, wasn't it?

"Don't look so shocked, Lysa," Elia said gently. "Doubtless some septa or other told you that such things were evil, or else behaved as if such things do not happen at all - poor Jon will pine after Rhaegar forever and a day, but Rhaegar has no interest in him as anything more than a friend. Even if he had, I do not think Rhaegar the sort of man to dishonour his marriage for a thrill, sweetling."

Lysa would have asked more questions, had Ashara and Cat not knocked on the door, smiling and laughing, to tell them that they had arrived, and she was suddenly so nervous at the thought of appearing to so many people as a Princess for the first time that Lysa thought she might be sick.


	8. Chapter Seven

Lysa had always loved the pageantry and excitement of tourneys, but they were always something she had experienced on the fringes - even when Father had hosted such festivities, a rare and much longed-for occurance, it had been Cat who held everyone's attention, who had sat at Father's side as Lady of Riverrun.

But Lysa, as a princess of the realm, as the wife of the Crown Prince who was carrying his heir, as kinswoman to their host, Lysa was one of the guests of honour, and was being accorded every possible respect.

It was both marvellous and  _terrifying,_ but Rhaegar held her hand, or at least kept it tucked into his elbow, in public at all times, and she had Cat and Mina and Ashara and Elia when Rhaegar could not be with her.

She also, to her surprise, had her father.

He had come to Harrenhall both on Lord Whent's invitation and, apparently, at Rhaegar's, and while he had been as elated upon greeting Cat as he ever was, he was also warmer towards Lysa than she could ever remember him being before.

 

* * *

 

Edmure, in his typical, careless manner, had demanded that Viserys and Mina's boys allow him to join their games, and had even gone out of his way to include little Olly Hightower, although Elia's son was often simply too small to keep up with the older boys.

"My brother will be here on the morrow, I suspect," Mina informed them two days after their arrival, "and the boys will have more companions then - his eldest boys are about the right age, I think, and I believe the little Hightower and Willas are inseperable."

"Humfrey has been staying at Highgarden, yes," Elia agreed. "He is as much a brat as ever, according to Alerie's letters."

Lysa liked how easily her friends spoke of their families and goodfamilies, and hoped that she would remain as close to the Queen as she had become, that she could continue to build the relationship she had formed so far with Viserys. He really  _was_ a sweet boy, she reflected, watching him help Horace Redwyne back to his feet after he fell out of a tree - much to his twin and Edmure's amusement, of course.

"Mace has a boy who is only a few moons old," Mina told her, leaning on the arm of her chair and smiling. "Loras - he's already a pretty little thing, according to Janna. He'll be near enough of an age with your little one when he's born, Princess. A Tyrell of Highgarden would be a suitable companion for the Crown Prince's eldest son, don't you think?"

"Eternally thinking of promoting House Tyrell's interests," Ashara mocked gently, her full mouth curving into a teasing smile. "How predictable you have become, Lady Redwyne."

Lysa squealed and ducked when Mina tossed a pillow at Ashara's head, and they all were giggling and red-faced when their husbands and brothers and, in Cat's case, father arrived to escort them to the midday meal.

 

* * *

 

Mina's brother and his family arrived on the same day as the Starks of Winterfell, and Lysa was unsure who she was supposed to greet first - eventually, she settled on the Starks, because Mina had promised to introduce her to the Tyrells later and besides, her sister would one day be Lady of Winterfell, and so it made sense that she make a special effort for Cat's family-to-be.

Lord Stark was absent, for some reason - Lysa heard someone mutter something about there always having to be a Stark in Winterfell, which seemed silly but also a specifically Northern sentiment, so she did not question it. She had already met both Lord Brandon and Lord Ned, and liked Lord Ned rather more than Cat's betrothed if only because he had a temperament more similar to her own, quieter and, in her opinion, oddly similar to Cat's than Lord Brandon's would ever be, but Lady Lyanna and Lord Benjen were new, and she delighted in meeting them.

Cat seemed to like Lord Benjen better than Lady Lyanna, or at least seemed easier in his company, and Lysa could see why - even just a short while in Lady Lyanna's company revealed her to be quite wild, either ignorant or uncaring of common courtesy (and having known Lord Ned for some months now, Lysa could not imagine that Lady Lyanna was  _ignorant_ ), wild and witty and altogether too much. 

Then again, were she bound to such a man as Robert Baratheon, Lysa thought that mayhaps  _she_ would have been somewhat too much. No woman deserved such a fate, not truly.

Still, even after meeting the Starks and sharing a meal with them and Father and Edmure and Bryden, Lysa was sure that Lord Ned was her favourite. She did not have to like Lady Lyanna to pity her, after all.

 

* * *

 

The royal box was set apart from the rest of the stands, and Lysa felt irritatingly cut off from her friends - she had only Rhaegar, Viserys, and their guards for company, but today was only for the squires, and so she did not mind that she did not have her friends to gossip with.

"Will you ride tomorrow, Ser Arthur?" she asked, leaning back in her chair and smiling up to him. "And you, Ser Barristan?"

"Of course, Your Highness," Ser Arthur said with a grin, leaning forward onto the back of her chair (earning himself a look of disapproval from Ser Barristan, which he gamely ignored). "Wearing my sister's favour, no doubt, because she would take insult if I wore that of any other lady - mayhaps the Prince will ride, and wear  _your_ favour."

"I may yet be tempted," Rhaegar said, looking away from quizzing Viserys on the different sigils on show for a moment to smile at them. "But only if my lady promises me a kiss if I prove victorious."

"Kissing is disgusting," Viserys offered. "Rhaegar, who is that there? I do not know  _that_ sigil!"

Lysa looked to where Viserys was pointing - he was a clever boy, with a wonderful memory for such things, and for him to not know a sigil was unusual. Lysa was surprised to find that she herself did not know it, the smiling weirwood utterly unfamiliar.

"It would seem we have a mystery knight," Prince Lewyn said, obviously delighted at this development. "How interesting this might prove to be!"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ssh I promised fluff who even wants Aerys there what would he bring to the party
> 
> And yes all my faves are here
> 
> Ssh just go with it


	9. Chapter Eight

"To think a tiny little mystery knight could whip all of those Freys," Ser Arthur laughed from behind the screen. "I think Lord Whent was close to tears when he saw that his lads stood not even half a chance of defeating our stranger - what a wonderful thing surprises are!"

Lysa held up her arms as her companions lifted her gown up, only half-listening to her guard's amused chatter, and pondered the mystery knight - he had caused an uproar, and Rhaegar said that it was only a mercy that the King had been convinced to remain in the capital, because he would have taken insult at the Knight of the Laughing Tree, as they were calling him, refusing to be unmasked.

Rhaegar, Lysa thought, had found the whole thing just as amusing as Ser Arthur clearly had, which surprised her somewhat - he usually pursued any and all mysteries and puzzles to their source, wild with fascination at anything at all that eluded him for more than a moment, but he seemed quite content to allow this particular conundrum to go unsolved.

"Someone said it must be one of the Northmen," Lady Tyrell, Lady  _Alerie_ Tyrell, Mina's goodsister on one side and Elia's goodsister on the other, said. She was much quieter than Mina and not so quiet as Elia, and Lysa liked her very much. It did not hurt that Lady Alerie got along so well with Cat, too, because Lysa did sometimes worry that Cat was lonely for home, for different company than that which was on offer in the capital. "That tree, it was a weirwood, and everyone knows the Northerners worship those trees."

"They worship the gods represented in those trees," Cat corrected, teasingly snooty (and a decent impression of Lady Cersei, which made Lysa grin). "As future Lady of Winterfell, it is my duty to disallow any misrepresentation of my people-to-be-"

"Most especially your  _husband_ to be," Mina mocked, carefully lacing Lysa's gown. "Lord Brandon of House Stark, heir to Winterfell - I am not surprised that you remain uncharmed by all those young bucks in King's Landing who've been chasing you, dear Catelyn, if your tastes run in  _that_ direction."

Cat flushed bright pink - Lysa knew, although she would never tell anyone at all,  _not even Petyr,_ that Cat was anxious at the prospect of wedding Brandon Stark if only because he was so  _wild,_ but even so she found him very attractive. Lysa thought Cat was wasted on a man like Brandon Stark, who had bedded maids and whores alike during his visits to Riverrun, who would never honour her sister as she deserved.

"My lady?" Rhaegar's voice came from beyond the screen - gods above, Lysa had not even heard the door open! "Are you decent?"

"Never!" Mina called, and Lysa couldn't help but laugh - nor, it seemed, could Rhaegar, and that made her smile so hard her cheeks ached.

 

* * *

 

"I have been blessed, this past year," Rhaegar said, his voice soft and carrying even in the vast hall, "with not only a wife that any man should be proud to have at his side, but also the promise of a child."

His hand was a warm, comforting weight on her belly, and Lysa smiled up at him even as she flushed with pride. Her family were seated at the table nearest the dais, and she had never seen Father look so proud. 

_His grandson will be king of the Seven Kingdoms,_ she thought. _Of course he is especially proud to be reminded of that._

Rhaegar produced his harp - the good silver one, not the polished cedar he played when it was just the two of them and their friends in the evenings in his solar - seemingly from nowhere, and smiled once more for Lysa.

"I dedicate this song to my special blessings," he said, cupping her cheek, thumb stroking once over her cheekbone, before releasing her and beginning to play.

She did not think there was a woman in the room without tears in her eyes by the time he finished.

 

* * *

 

"The youngest Stark boy almost took a beating last night," Prince Lewyn announced as they broke their fast, sounding just as amused by this as Ser Arthur had been by the mystery knight's victory the previous day. "Some of the boys who were trounced yesterday took it into their heads that the lad was the one who beat them - lucky indeed for him that his brothers were nearby to intervene-"

"-and that Robert was with Ned Stark," Ser Arthur added, grinning wide, "and not-"

"A civil tongue before my lady wife, ser," Rhaegar cut in, but he was smiling as well, more amused than offended by his friend's antics.

"Lord Baratheon has made certain that there is not a woman in King's Landing who is unaware that the only thing he prefers to drinking and hunting is whoring," Lysa said primly, succeeding for mayhaps the first time in shocking her husband. "Although whoring is something of a misnomer - womanising would be more accurate, I think, given that there cannot be many women under the age of thirty that he has not at least attempted to seduce, regardless of marital status or profession."

Ser Arthur and Prince Lewyn snickered between themselves, but Rhaegar's face was entirely serious.

"Has Lord Robert behaved inappropriately with  _you,_ my lady?" he asked sharply, reaching across the table to take her hand. "If he has-"

"He has spoken, once or twice while drunk, of how pretty I must be in the nude if the hair between my legs matches that on my head," she told him, and Ser Arthur burst into outright guffaws of laughter. "But he was easily dissuaded, my lord, you have no need to worry, I promise you."

 

* * *

 

Rhaegar's armour was terrifying, although Lysa would never have admitted as much, because Viserys was so excited by the sight of his brother thus attired and she could not bring herself to spoil his mood even the tiniest bit.

He was sitting on a long bench in the royal box with Edmure, the Redwynes, the eldest Tyrells, and little Oly Hightower for company - Lysa did not think she had ever seen her goodbrother so happy, and she could not help but smile. 

She herself was surrounded by friends, too - Cat and Mina, Elia and Ashara, Lady Alerie and Lady Lyanna all crowded together around her seat, laughing and chattering and cheering on their favourites.

All of them had someone wearing their favour, which was the root of much good-natured ribbing and japing. They all teased Lysa mercilessly when Rhaegar appeared, her Tully-blue and Targaryen-scarlet ribbon tied around his arm, vibrant against the black of his armour, if only because it was so unusual for a man to wear his lady's favour where it could be seen - Lysa knew for a fact that Ser Arthur had Ashara's around his arm under his gambeson, Ser Baelor the same with Elia's. 

She liked that Rhaegar had liked her favour so much, the combination of their colours - she was glad, though, that the King was not present to see it. Likely he would have flown into a rage at her audacity, daring to sully the Targaryen colours with the  _lesser_ Tully colours.

_I am sullying the Targaryen blood with my lesser Tully blood,_ she thought, oddly giddy as she stroked her belly and sat back more comfortably, and with that in mind she settled in to watch the jousting.

 

* * *

 

Viserys was still half in a panic over Lord Brandon's fall - he had badly broken a rib, the bone piercing his skin under his armour, Lady Lyanna had fled to see to her brother - when Rhaegar and Ser Arthur turned to face one another in the final tilt.

"Rhaegar will win!" Viserys announced, looking to his companions for agreement. "He is the best warrior in the land!"

Lysa could not disagree - she had never seen Rhaegar like this before, but even she could see that only Ser Arthur could possibly stand a chance against him.

Ser Arthur, though, did not - Rhaegar won, accepting the crown of bright blue winter roses with one hand as he tore off his helm, his priceless helm, and tossed it aside as if it were so much scrap with the other, before riding back to the royal box and beckoning for her to come forward.

Lysa felt ungainly and awkward as Mina and Prince Lewyn helped her to her feet, but she felt as beautiful as Cat or Queen Rhaella when Rhaegar leaned forward and placed the crown on her head, and even more beautiful when he leaned a little closer and drew her mouth to his with a gentle hand under her chin.

"Why, my lady," he said, amusement and joy bright on his face, "they match your eyes perfectly!"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> YEAH BUDDY LOOK AT RHAEGAR NOT BE A TOOL


	10. Chapter Nine

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Slightly darker chapter, sorry chums

Lysa had forgotten all about Petyr (not truly, she could never do that, but near enough that she had stopped altogether worrying what he might think of this or that or the other), but he reminded her of his existence five days following the jousting, when he came to see her between Rhaegar's departure after their morning meal and her companions' arrival.

She was totally alone when he slipped into her room, save for Ser Arthur standing behind her chair, and she wished suddenly for Cat or for Mina. She felt somehow unsafe with Petyr, if only because she had realised, in being wanted by someone, how foolish she had been in pursuing him as she had.

She wished she might hate him, but she knew she could never do so. He was her Petyr, and a part of her might always love him.

"Lysa," he said warmly, coming towards her with his arms outstretched, moving as though to embrace her. Ser Arthur, though, stepped forward and pressed a hand to Petyr's chest, halting him dead.

"The Princess is deserving of greater respect than  _that,_ my lord," he said coolly. "You will address and approach her accordingly, and only indulge in such familiarity if she invites it - do you not understand such protocol?"

Petyr's cheeks flamed - he took every such insinuation as a slight against the low standing of his House - and backed away, slapping at Ser Arthur's arm in annoyance or disgust, Lysa knew not which. 

"Most gracious Highness," he purred mockingly, sweeping a low, formless bow that was purely made to sneer at Ser Arthur. "Might I have the honour of an audience?"

Lysa knew from Ser Arthur's frown that every word and move of this exchange would be reported back to Rhaegar, and she felt pathetic for being relieved - but she would have felt even more pathetic to have been grateful for Petyr's attention and affection, as she would once have done.

 

* * *

 

"What was it Lord Petyr wanted, my lady?" Rhaegar asked as they sat once more at the high table, watching a show put on by a troupe of mummers that Lord Whent exalted above all others. "If he behaved inappropriately, or made an inappropriate request-"

"He was slightly over familiar," Lysa rushed to assure him, forcing herself to meet his steady, earnest gaze, "but that is merely a mark of our shared past - we were raised as siblings, my lord, and such habits are difficult to break."

"If you are certain," Rhaegar said, more uncertain than Lysa could ever remember seeing him. "Your sister seems fond enough of him as well, and I cannot imagine that she would remain so if she thought he had done you even the slightest harm - and of course, Arthur was with you all of the time, I know."

"Ser Arthur guards me well," Lysa agreed.

"And Lady Catelyn guards her better," Ser Arthur put in, smiling from his place behind Lysa's chair. "Lord Littlefinger did the princess no harm, Your Highness, I promise you."

Lysa did not mention the letter Petyr had pressed into her hand as he bid her farewell, and she planned on reading it alone - Rhaegar was to speak with some of the Lords Paramount and would not be with her until later than usual, and she preferred to sleep alone if not with her husband, so she would have a chance to read it when she settled to bed for the night.

She hoped against hope that Petyr had not done something foolish, something that if she misplaced the letter would earn Rhaegar's or the King's ire, but she doubted it. She knew better than anyone how ambitious he was, and she feared for him because of it.

 

* * *

 

Lysa forgot all about Petyr's letter when she arrived in her chambers with Ser Arthur to find her ladies already there, all crowded around Cat, who was weeping into her hands.

"Sister?" Lysa called, rushing to her side and crouching by her chair. "Cat, what is it? Is it Father? Edmure? Uncle Brynden?"

Cat shook her head, threw her arms around Lysa's neck, and continued to weep.

"We have just had a message from Lord Eddard, while we were readying your toilet, Your Highness," Mina said, stroking Cat's hair gently. "Lord Brandon was sorely injured in the fall he took during the jousting, and it would seem that he did not heed the maester's advice - he contracted blood poisoning, Princess."

Lysa's heart clenched - she had never heard of anyone to survive blood poisoning - and she held Cat tighter.

"You will stay with me tonight," she whispered. "I am so sorry, Cat, truly I am."


	11. Chapter Ten

Lysa sighed and laid the cool cloth once more over her brow, wondering when she would find comfort again.

Cat had retired to Riverrun for a time, a period of mourning in honour of her long,  _long_ betrothal to Lord Brandon, and in order to prepare herself for the marriage Father still hoped to see within two years - to Lord Ned, rather than Lord Brandon, but still a marriage that would see Cat as Lady of Winterfell in time.

Lysa felt sorry for Cat - her sister  _had_ been fond of Brandon Stark, and was now set to marry a shy stranger - but she was preoccupied with how heavy her belly now was. Maester Pycelle had assured the King that twins were possible, even likely, but Lysa's maester, a gentle-voiced man named Dara, and her midwife, a tiny woman with arms of steel called Berta, had both been of the opinion that it was more likely that the babe was simply very, very large.

Rhaegar had discounted every piece of wisdom that suggested she was carrying a boy, insisting that their first child would be a girl, a daughter to name Rhaenys, and Lysa had not the heart to tell him that she herself both thought she was having a son and hoped for it - she prayed for a son, even, because the Queen had implied that the King would look upon her more kindly if she produced an heir for Rhaegar sooner rather than later.

In the weeks following the strange, wonderful tourney at Harrenhall, Lysa had hardly seen her husband - he was constantly busy with this visiting dignitary, that member of the small council, this farmer with a complaint, that knight with a grievance. He ruled the realm in all but name, Lysa knew, because they had only an incompetent Hand and a Mad King aside from him, but she was still surprised by how much she missed his company.

She missed Cat a great deal, too, but not quite so much as she had feared she might - she had new companions, now, as well as Mina and Elia and Ashara, because Lady Alerie had come to court for a time, as well as the promise that once the mourning period was complete, Lady Lyanna Stark would be joining them, and a handful of others that she only barely knew yet. She did not know why she needed so many companions, but she recognised that Rhaegar surrounded himself with a similar number of the younger lords and older heirs, and she did not question his wisdom in matters of politics.

"Does he insist on Rhaenys?" Ashara sighed, sprawled across a divan, her embroidery long since tossed aside. "They've all been used so many times that they are positively  _boring_ now, little princess - unless you beg for him to allow you an unpopular Targaryen name."

"Such as?" Lysa asked, amused as always by Ashara's careless antics. She alone seemed not to fear the King's wrath, and Lysa wondered if that was because Ashara believed that Ser Arthur would choose loyalty to his House, her in particular, over his vows to the King. 

"Shiera," Ashara offered. "Or Naerys, although those are both girls' names, and only the prince seems to think you are carrying his daughter. Hmm, unpopular  _male_ names..."

"Mayhaps not necessarily an unpopular name so much as an underused name would suit, Lysa," Elia said, rolling her eyes at Ashara's antics. "Aemon is nice, I think? Daeron, Daemon, Aerion - Aenar, even. There are more names than just  _Aegon,_ after all."

"Baelor, mayhaps," Alerie teased, "for my beloved brother, and the King for whom he was named - although he is hardly so  _blessed_ as his namesake, as I am sure my sister can confirm."

Elia smiled primly, but Lysa knew how fond she was of her husband - Ser Baelor was excessively considerate of Elia's physical limitations without ever outwardly appearing to be so, and had held her standing on the toes of his boots so they might dance during the final night at Harrenhall.

Lysa wondered if Rhaegar would be so understanding, were she in Elia's position and unable to safely bear more than one child. Ser Baelor did not seem to care a damn, and indeed spoiled their Oly rotten, carrying the boy about on his shoulders as if  _he_ were heir to the Iron Throne. 

She hoped Rhaegar would love their children as openly as Baelor Hightower loved his son, or as Mace Tyrell clearly loved his. 

 

* * *

 

Lysa was surprised when a letter came from Cat, only to reveal that Lord Ned had visited at Riverrun and, breaking his late brother's tradition, had actually spent the majority of his time with  _her._

Cat seemed to like him well enough - she had been worried that he misliked her for some reason, but had wheedled out of him the truth that he merely feared that she found him a poor compensation for his brother.

Lysa knew that feeling well enough. She liked Lord Ned Stark more and more as she came to know him better, and thought that he and Cat might fit one another well.

Cat wrote also of her surprise that he made no effort to so much as kiss her on the lips - his brother had been inappropriately forward, to the point where Cat had taken to taking Uncle Brynden on their walks as chaperone. 

Lysa was pleased that Cat was not entirely opposed to this new match, and utterly  _thrilled_ that her sister was due to return to the capital in time for the birth - it was all well and good having Mina and Elia with her, but there was no person in the world that Lysa trusted as she did Cat, and she wanted her sister with her when she went to the birthing bed. She had not told anyone, but she was deeply afraid of it, the bloody bed - her mother had died in it, after all, and had difficulty in carrying children aside from herself and Cat and Edmure, and she was  _terrified_ that she might suffer her mother's fate. 

Would anyone aside from Cat and Edmure truly mourn her, she wondered? She supposed Father would, because she knew that despite their seemingly endless differences, he  _did_ love her, as did Uncle Brynden, but would her new friends? Would her husband?

Queen Rhaella would, she knew. And little Viserys, currently playing with the Redwyne twins and Alerie's eldest two boys, he would mourn her, she knew that as certainly as she knew that the flowers he presented her with would cause an angry red rash all over his pale, skinny-fingered hands.

She pushed aside such melancholy thoughts and turned back to Elia, who had been attempting to teach them all to play a strange game called  _cyvasse_  - it was popular in Dorne, apparently, and Elia had admitted that she was a poor player compared with her eldest brother, Prince Doran, who she deemed something of a master.

"I have no head for games such as this," Lysa admitted after suffering her seventh defeat in a row - Ashara knew the game, and Alerie too, but Lysa was somehow relieved that Mina was quite as useless as she was, as were some of her newer companions, Alanna Waynwood in particular.

 

* * *

 

Cersei Lannister was still lingering somewhere about, spitting venom whenever she could and being bitter, but she seemed to spend less time as a member of Lysa's entourage - it was a strange thing, but Lysa had, with Mina's help, come to understand Lady Cersei Lannister better than she had ever thought to.

"It was no secret that Lord Tywin proposed Cersei as a match for your prince," Mina told her as she helped Lysa comb her hair for bed. "And he failed to make any plans for what might happen to her should the King refuse, which he did. The North, the Stormlands, Dorne, the Reach, they're all out of the question owing to their lords and heirs being either wed or betrothed. Your brother is too young for her to consider, of course."

"There is always Lord Arryn's heir," Lysa said. "Elbert. If Lord Tywin refuses to consider any but a Lord Paramount for her."

"She, I think, would almost settle for someone else at this point," Mina admitted. "It is embarrassing for her, for it to be so publically known that she was refused, and I imagine it is uncomfortable for her to be forced into such close proximity to the Prince, particularly when her father has made no effort to find a husband for her."

"Her own pride is a problem too," Lysa opined. "She thinks herself more worthy of Rhaegar than I am, doesn't she?"

"Likely she does," Mina agreed. "She is vain and arrogant, and thinks herself superior to all of us - if she is not careful, the only heir to a Lord Paramount of an appropriate age left for her to marry will be the Greyjoy boy, if you can truly consider Balon Greyjoy the equal to the likes of my brother or your father."


	12. Chapter Eleven

Rhaegar was away on one of his trips to Summerhall when Lysa's labour began, and oddly, she found herself glad of it.

Instead of having to maintain her composure for him - because she could sense his disapproval whenever it slipped, as though he felt that she should constantly share the same serenity he exuded in waves unless speaking of his beloved prophecies, or fretting over his father's state of mind - she could allow herself to worry, to show her fears.

Mother had started her labour some three weeks early the very last time, just as Lysa's was starting some three weeks early now. 

 

* * *

 

Cat had returned to court just days before Rhaegar had departed, and Lysa was so,  _so_ glad of her sister's presence.

"It will all be perfectly fine, sweetling," Cat cooed, wrapping her arm tight around Lysa's shoulders and guiding her to rest her head under her chin, just as Lysa had done from they were small together - Cat was so much taller than her, and slighter too, and Lysa had always found such comfort and strength in her sister's embrace. That was what she needed now, all the comfort and strength she could garner to counter the terrible fear, that and the curious peace she always found in Queen Rhaella's company.

She leaned back against Cat, and held tight to the Queen's hand, and fought for calm and bravery. It was easier, with them beside her.

 

* * *

 

Nothing had ever hurt as much as labour. Lysa prayed that nothing ever would, because she would surely die if it did.

She had been so looking forward to this, because she had been so looking forward to meeting her babe, but now she just wanted it to be over, for it all to be over, because gods preserve her but she did not know how she was to stand much more of this  _agony-_

"Only a little more, Your Highness," the maester assured her, just as he had an hour ago and two hours ago. "Just a little more."

 

* * *

 

She wondered if the sheets underneath her would have been as red as they were with blood alone, had they not been red already. She hoped Rhaegar would not mind that she had given birth in his bedchamber rather than her own.

 

* * *

 

Her throat ached near as badly as her back and her sex, but when her cries were joined by those of another, a thin, wavering cry that stopped her heart in her chest, she forgot all about her pains.

"A son, Your Highness," the maester said, passing Lysa's son to the midwives as soon as he'd cut the cord. "An heir for Prince Rhaegar - he and the King both will be  _most_ pleased by this news."

 

* * *

 

It was not until much later, when Lysa had been moved into her own bedchamber and bathed and nursed her little son for the first time, when Cat asked her what his name would be, that Lysa realised Rhaegar had never once mentioned a name for a son.

She wondered if he might permit her to choose their son's name, or if he would do as she hoped he would not and insist on Aegon.


	13. Chapter Twelve

“A boy,” he said, more surprised than Lysa had ever seen him. “A boy, my lady?”

“Yes, my lord,” Lysa said uneasily, clasping her hands tight to prevent herself from fisting them in her skirts like a child. “A son. Our son. A prince of the realm, my lord, just as you yourself and your brother are princes of the realm.”

“I was expecting a daughter, my lady,” he said, as though it were some shameful confession, as though Lysa did not know that he had pronounced the midwives and maesters and Lysa’s own instincts wrong all throughout her pregnancy and insisted that the child she carried was a girl.

“I am aware, my lord,” she said coldly, suddenly angry with him - why could he not be happy with a son, as any other man would have been? She had given him an heir, a beautiful, healthy son, and he was upset with her!

She had not laboured to bring their son into this world for his disappointment!

“I have not yet named him,” she said quietly, turning towards the nursery off her solar. “I had thought that you might wish to, my lord, but if you are so disinterested-”

“Aegon. His name is to be Aegon.”

Lysa sighed and moved into the nursery, closing the door behind herself.

Rhaegar’s hand stopped the door, though.

“I am not disinterested in my son,” he said, his voice harder than ever it had been while directed towards her. “I merely do not understand how it is that he is a son, not a daughter.”

He seemed disappointed in her, somehow, and that infuriated her so much that she lingered overlong about feeding and winding their son - Aegon, how she had wanted a name with less history for her sweet boy! - so Rhaegar could not hold him.

 

 

* * *

 

“What a terror,” Ashara said, shaking her head and stroking Elia’s Oly’s hair down as he strained to see Aegon. “He did not ask your opinion?”

“Never,” Lysa agreed. “He simply stated what we are to call Aegon, and moved on.”

“Horrid,” Mina agreed. “Paxter never even offered an opinion on what we were to call our boys - he allowed me to choose, because he thought it only fair considering the effort I put into birthing them.”

Mina missed her sons dearly, Lysa knew - they remained at the Arbor with their lord father, but Mina remained at court with Lysa.

“You should bring them to court,” Lysa said, “or mayhaps you could visit them!”

“You could visit with us, your highness,” Mina said. “My sisters, of course, will accompany me if I return home - I daresay our journey will include stops at Highgarden and Oldtown.”

Alerie and Elia smiled softly, Elia beckoning Oly close and lifting him into her lap.

“It’s high time you tour your realm, Princess,” Ashara said eagerly. “We could all travel together, us and the little prince, take a tour of the Reach and the Riverlands before coming back through the Crownlands.”

“But that could take a year or more!” Lysa said, stunned at the thought of spending such a long time travelling, at the expense of such a long time travelling being so casually discussed. “Could we be away for so long?”

“It will take more,” Alerie said idly, looking through her sewing basket and humming in pleasure when she found what she was looking for. “My lord husband will wish to host you for, oh, a moon’s turn at least, my lord father the same. Doubtless the Florents, they will wish to host you for a long while too, and how can you spend less than a moon’s turn, perhaps several weeks more, with your lord father?”

Lysa held Aegon closer, stroking his soft hair - paler than hers, but still red, still Tully red - and wondered if escape would be possible. Rhaegar’s disappointment and dismissal had cut her deeper than anything save her understanding that Petyr had never wanted her at all, and she thought the time away from him might do her good.

 

* * *

 

“And how are we to have more children if you are off gallivanting about the Reach?” Rhaegar asked mildly as they sat in his solar that night, Cat at Lysa’s side and Ser Oswell at her shoulder. She had warmed to her kinsman - distant though the relation was, she claimed it still - during her pregnancy, for he had been kinder than she might have imagined him capable of being, and so it was he that guarded her more than any other save mayhaps Ser Arthur.

“I am young,” Lysa pointed out as calmly as she could manage. “It will hardly impact the realm negatively if there is a year or two between our son and his brothers-”

“Sisters,” Rhaegar cut in offhandedly. “But do continue.”

“Our son and his siblings,” Lysa corrected savagely, seething now. “I have given you a son, my lord, an heir, and he is the healthiest child I have ever known - a tour of the Reach and Riverlands would be good for both of us. My lord father has not yet seen his grandson, after all, and if I am to be your queen it would do us both well to meet the lords and ladies over whom you will rule.”

 

* * *

 

She had forgotten to consider the King. A foolish thing to forget, considering she ought have known he would never permit Aegon to be away from King’s Landing, not even to Dragonstone, which was technically Rhaegar’s keep and to which Aegon was technically heir.

The King mistrusted Rhaegar, and what better hostage to Rhaegar’s good behaviour than Rhaegar’s son?

Lysa wished she had not learned so much of her new home. She wished things were still as beautiful and wonderous as they had been during the early days of her marriage.


End file.
